Curse
by The Moon on a String
Summary: Jack Frost was a curse. A damn curse. He was making it harder for Pitch to pretend that he actually loved the child, pretend the words weren't lies. And at some point the Nightmare King stopped pretending.


Jack Frost is a curse.

A beautiful, deadly curse.

A wicked curse he's grown to love.

The word taste foul on his tongue, sound wrong in his mind. _Love_. Surely there was a better word to describe what he felt for the frosted child. Obsession was probably a better term. Ownership even. Love wasn't quite right.

Because love is just a terrible curse - just like Jack.

_I love you_. Those three words. He had never mean them when he said them. Not really. The people he had once said them to were his no longer. He did not mean those words anymore. Not to anyone and especially not to Jack. _Never_ to him.

But what if he did mean them? If the Nightmare King truly did love him? Would it make a difference? Not to Jack. He was completely infatuated. He just Pitch to hold him when ever he cried - whether it be from his haunting dreams and horrid nightmares or because of the Bogeyman himself it didn't matter. He just wanted Pitch to hold him and lean down and murmur that everything would be okay and that he loved him so very, very much. Jack would blindly believe him; fooled by the pretense of Pitch loving him back. He didn't really. He just said he did. Maybe that's what love was. A curse you repeated over and over again.

He had won Jack over. He led the child to the point of insanity. All to prove a point: he could easily make Jack fall for him. He played dirty. He used Jack's weaknesses, his fears, even the Guardians against him. It was very wrong. Twisted. Evil. Eventually Jack was desperate enough to accept that and just cave in. He didn't want to be _alone_. He believed he was always cursed to be alone. Not anymore.

The first time he had said it aloud; they were just words. Words he knew the child wanted - needed - to hear. So he just said them. To please the child. And Jack was very pleased. He wept tears of joy upon hearing those words. He did not mean them but he still found pleasure in being able to receive such a strong reaction from those words. The lies. The curse.

It was obviously to all that Jack was certainly not his equal lover. He was the Nightmare King's toy. Something he could play with when he got bored. Something he could take his rage out on when he felt frustrated. The best part was, all he had to do was apologise and say those words and everything would be alright. Jack would forgive him for anything. It was also obvious to all that Jack was simply overwhelmed by abuse, neglect, submission and his own blind love. He didn't like thinking about it, but he knew he now was cursed to be like _this_ forever. He'd be driven insane by the torture and sweet words from the one man - monster - who cared about him to some extent.

He was beginning to lie to himself. He said he kept Jack around for his pleasure only. That he did not view Jack as anything but an object, a plaything. But that can't have been true. Not when he held Jack tightly each time they slept or when he squeezed the teen's waist when they were embracing - he knew it made Jack writhe in delight - and how he kissed his nose because he knew Jack loved it. He would not do those things if he didn't view Jack as a lover. He'd be cold and unkind, simply using his young body for his own needs. But he tried to cater to the boy's every need, he tried to make the bad dreams go away. He didn't like Jack's fear. It was so intoxicating and wonderful and it made him so furious with himself because it came from Jack. And he didn't want it to. He was cursed by the fact that he was caught in between of treating Jack like he was nothing and he was something.

He was always something to Jack. He was the child's everything. No matter how many times he hit or kick the winter spirit, no matter how many times he told Jack he was nothing, nothing but a game, no matter how many times to told Jack he merely kept him around as a form of _entertainment_, Jack Frost wouldn't listen. He'd wait for Pitch to finish screaming at him. He'd wait for the beatings to stop. Then he'd sit up, wipe the blood and tears from his face and smile through broken sobs and tell Pitch how much he loved him. And it was just so wrong. Pitch knew he'd be cursed to see that sight for many centuries to come.

_He laid in bed, Jack's bare form snuggled against his own. The child yawned, drifting off to sleep. He stroked a hand through the white hair, lulling Jack, pulling him into a deserved slumber._

_"Rest, Jack. You need it; you were wonderful tonight."_

_Jack smirked lazily. "Haha. Thanks but I don't see how I _did_ anything - I was tied up by your shadows the whole time."_

They had lots of strange conversations like this before they feel asleep. It almost seemed a little more normal. As if they were just two humans and everything was happy and they weren't lonely and tormented spirits cursed by their own trauma and suffering.

_"Exactly. You obeyed my every command."_

_"I had to, didn't I?"_

It would not get better. They both knew that. It just wouldn't. They could pretend all they wanted. They could call it love, happiness, whatever they wanted. It was just more lies. More curses.

_"Yes. Now, just go to sleep."_

_Jack rolled his eyes. "Okay, jeez." He kissed Pitch's chest. "Good night."_

_"Good night, pet." Pitch held him closer._

The truth was, it would most likely only get worse.

_"I love you, Daddy."_

_"I love you too, little snowflake."_

But that's okay because it could get worse so long as Jack still believed his lies.

It felt rather nice. Pretending to love another. He knew it kept Jack smiling so he'd just keep saying the cursed words.

Was that what love was?

No. Because Pitch Black didn't love Jack Frost. Not really. The child made it hard. He didn't realise he hard he made it for the Nightmare King. A part of him didn't want to love Jack because he was so afraid he'd_ lose_ him. And he'd had enough past experiences on losing something precious to him. But a part of him was curious to what love actually felt like. He could see it in Jack eyes. He was in love, smitten, _infatuated_. That child was a curse. A damn curse and it was getting harder and harder to pretend to love him.

Because at some point, he wasn't sure when, he stopped pretending.

_What a horrible curse love is._


End file.
